


Contingency Report

by Miri1984



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Character Death, Quinn is a dad and is surprisingly good at it, Violence, original child character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darth Baras'  plans span many generations and allow for many contingencies. One such contingency was Valdin Quinn. In this case, she was a contingency that Quinn was unwilling to leave as a loose end. (First chapter originally posted in Tales of the Old Republic but it got completely out of hand so now it gets its own posting)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he woke from the bacta tank, he set himself to work on Baras’ network of spies. Of course, there were those in the council who desperately desired to claim Baras’ power. His influence, his choice of apprentices, the ties of obligations that were bound to him from decades of careful planning -- these things could conceivably be salvaged by a sith with the right amount of respect and command.

Vopenir would have been the natural choice. But she professed no desire to claim Baras’ legacy as her own, when he had dared to suggest that they investigate it she had laughed. A year passed, Baras was cold in his grave and then had come Shan and Revan and his life had been shattered (again) and he had taken the few threads and leads he had managed to cultivate in the belief that one day she would wish to pursue them with him when he had gone.

Intelligence --  _ sith  _ Intelligence, had been pleased enough to take them from him. He had handed them over blankly, because it was his duty to the empire, because once again, that duty took precedence over his duty to her... 

...save one single thread that he pursued in his own time, because he felt he needed to close a book on something that he should never have opened.

And that was how he found her.

 

The moon was on the outer rim, and he was sure the locals had given it some name, but in the star charts it was listed simply as KX-32 and he felt no need to adjust its name in his records. 

It was inhabited, barely, an agricultural world that produced enough to support its population, no more, perhaps a little less. It was out of sight and mind to Empire and Republic alike -- precisely the kind of planet that Quinn had found Baras favoured for these kinds of… projects. No one would come here by accident. No one would come here on purpose, either, unless they wished to disappear.

There was barely even a spaceport, and once he alighted from his shuttle he had to negotiate with locals in a bastardised patois to discover the address he needed, to find a route to the coordinates he had uncovered.

A farm, on the outskirts of a tiny town. A hut, functional, and somewhat wealthier than others he had seen in the area -- a mark of Baras’ favour, he guessed.

A small, overheated room. A middle aged woman. And the girl.

 

Her skin was a far paler green than her mother’s had been -- he had seen full blooded mirialans with skin that pale, but not often -- free of traditional tattoos and dotted with freckles. There was very little to distinguish her looks -- a child so young was rarely blessed with strength of features enough to leave a lasting impression on anyone, but as she gazed up at him, firmly grasping the hand of the human woman who professed to be her carer, he could not help but recognise the precise shade of blue in those large eyes.

He saw that shade in the mirror, every morning.

Deep, black hair was combed back and neatly held in a braid down her back, and her chin lifted as he studied her with a hint of something that made his heart ache.

“My instructions were to care for her as though she were my own,” the woman said, although there was an edge to her voice that Quinn did not like at all. 

“Baras’ instructions have changed,” he said. “The girl is to come with me.”

The woman shifted. He suspected she was not an unscrupulous person. Baras would not have wanted the child damaged, not, at least, until he could use that damage against them, but there were forms to be followed.

“I assure you you will be adequately compensated for her absence,” he said, reaching for his credit chip.

The woman’s eyes cleared and her grip on the child’s shoulder lessened. “She’s a good girl,” she said. “Been no trouble to us. I hope you remember us well to her father.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Her father?”

She blinked. “Darth Baras.” 

Quinn’s nostrils flared and he saw the woman take a step back in sudden fear. It took him a moment to realise his hand had dropped to his blaster, took him a moment to smooth the snarl from his lips.

“Darth Baras is  _ not _ her father,” he said. The child -- Valdin her name was, he reminded himself -- had not stepped back with her carer. Instead she stood, calm and still, considering him with those blue eyes.

“As you say, m’lord,” the woman said, clearly not caring one way or another. She lived so far away from the Empire, she did not even know that her mentor was dead, only that every month credits were delivered to her account to carry out a duty that had no meaning for anyone save himself any longer.

It was not her fault. 

He swallowed and looked down at his datapad, making a quick transfer of funds. She would continue to receive the stipend from Darth Baras’ estate -- he saw no reason to cancel it, despite his lingering anger at her misattribution.

It was not  _ her fault,  _ he reminded himself again. Baras was three years in his grave and had no power over any of them any more.

When he was done he looked up at the woman, who was holding a small satchel. “Her things,” she said. “She don’t want for much, a toy here and there, mostly keeps to herself. Sleeps through the night, although I’ve had some her age that start to wake if they’re in unfamiliar places. You ever looked after a child her age before?”

She was no more than three, Quinn guessed. Which would mean she had been born shortly after their marriage. Baras had almost certainly seen his involvement with Vopenir as a weakness he could exploit. 

He would not pretend that the child was meant as leverage for Vopenir. She had never been concerned with legacy, only survival. This particular scheme of his former master’s was entirely for use against Quinn.

He was once again, more than grateful that Vopenir had killed him when she had the chance. “I am adequately prepared to care for her,” he said.

The woman snorted, obviously skeptical, and Quinn felt another surge of resentment, moving forward to take the bag she was holding. She handed it over, and then knelt down to nod at Valdin.

“You can go with him,” she said. “He’ll look after you.”

Quinn swallowed and did his best to smooth his expression. Valdin, for her part, didn’t seem distressed at the prospect of going with Quinn, although he suspected that would change once she was out of familiar surroundings. He shouldered the bag and nodded to her.

“Come, Valdin,” he said, and turned, walking towards the door. When she got to the door she was not beside him, and he looked back. She was standing, eyes wide and staring.

“Go on, girl,” the woman said, gently pushing her forward. She looked back up at the woman, then at Quinn, but did not move.

He took a breath. Held out his hand.

It seemed to be the signal she was waiting for, and she came to him, slotting her small hand into his. It was cool and dry, and he folded his fingers around hers carefully and nodded to her as he opened the door.

Neither of them looked back again.


	2. Chapter 2

He had come prepared, of course. Never let it be said of Malavai Quinn that he went into a situation without adequate resources. His ship -- not so luxuriously appointed as the Fury had been, nevertheless had two small private cabins and could be crewed just by himself and a droid, so there was no need for him to have anyone else on board, no need to expose Valdin to the dangers of hired pilots and engineers.

He had bought the vessel with the settlement money from his divorce -- a hefty sum considering Baras’ initial generosity towards his apprentice. Quinn’s own salary and the various rewards and payments they had received during his time with Vopenir had rarely been accessed, Vopenir had insisted that she pay for almost everything and he had seen no reason to object.

As a result, and because of some wise investments on his part, he was presently wealthy enough to consider leaving the military entirely, should it become necessary. He suspected that it might.

He had arranged the second cabin with a child-sized bed and an array of toys designed specifically to stimulate growth of the intellect. Tactile, printed books (rare in the empire these days, and therefore expensive) full of brightly coloured pictures. A few specifically mirialan toys he had bartered for in a marketplace in Republic space, designed to encourage the development of force sensitivity. 

He had no idea when she had last eaten, so before he took her to her bedroom he prepared a small meal for them both at the kitchenette. Plain flavours -- a variety of protein and vegetables, no spice. He was uncertain whether Vopenir’s preferences were particular to her or to mirialans in general, in any case he thought it best to err on the side of conservative when it came to the child’s nutrition.

She picked at the food, seeming to prefer blue milk to anything else, and he figured it would do no harm for her to have as much of that as she wished. He encouraged her to have a bite of everything on her plate, which she did dutifully, then he proclaimed himself satisfied and she nodded in agreement, slipping down from the chair and padding off towards the cockpit on some mission of her own.

He gently stopped her and she looked at him questioning. “I am sorry,” he said. “You are not allowed in the cockpit right now.” She pouted, then yawned. He felt his lips twitch in a smile as he smoothed his hands down her shoulders. “You are tired. Come.”

They brushed their teeth together, Valdin standing on a small stool so she could see her face in the mirror. He had to help her a little -- she was unsure of the most efficient way to operate the brush, and then he showed her the shower. She stepped inside with some trepidation, but seemed delighted with the results -- sitting down in the stream of water and obviously wanting to stay and play past the time she was completely clean. He had forgotten to ask whether she was toilet trained -- but the bag the woman had given him had no diapers and when he presented her with one that he had bought she turned up her nose at him and proceeded to insist on dressing herself.

When she was done the sleep shift he had given her was back to front, and Quinn informed her of it before helping her to right it. She seemed satisfied with that, and he took her hand, leading her into her room.

He read her one of the ridiculous stories -- about a playful bantha of all things -- then tucked her into the bed, adjusting the sleep rail to be certain she did not roll out during the night. She lay blinking up at him for a long moment before he leaned forward and pressed an awkward kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well,” he said. 

She closed her eyes and he left the room.

Five seconds later, he heard her feet padding on the metal plates behind him as he made his way to the cockpit. He led her back to bed and repeated the process (sans story this time) but she followed him out again.

He sat on her bed, holding her hand, and attempted to explain to her that he had to pilot the ship back to Imperial space, that she was tired and needed rest and she could only do that here, in her bed. She nodded, seemingly satisfied, then followed him out when he left. Again.

Sighing in frustration, he sat back down on her bed and took her hand.

“Stay,” she said to him. 

“You want me to stay with you?”

She nodded, biting her lip. He smoothed his hand over her hair. “Just for tonight,” he said. Her small hand in his felt impossibly fragile, and he sat, watching her as she drifted off towards sleep.

He may have stayed a little longer than necessary, before gently extracting his fingers from hers and going back to the cockpit to plot their course to Dromund Kaas.

 

He was not so foolish as to land on the Capital World, not at the present time, when Darths and Lords and upstart sith apprentices bickered and warred with each other in the streets like vermin. His leave was close to finished, and he knew that duty would call him back to the planet eventually, but he had applied for a posting far from Imperial space, and had received confirmation of it before going to collect Valdin. He knew that Pierce remained, trapped by his superiors in a position he despised, and while most of him was quietly pleased that he had finally backed himself into the corner he deserved, he also could not help but feel a tinge of pity for the man.

It was a small tinge, easily quashed. 

No, he would not land on Dromund Kaas. Instead he flew the ship to coordinates close to the edge of the system, and waited.

 

Valdin had woken shortly after they had reached the rendezvous, and Quinn had spent some time with her eating a hearty breakfast and readying her for the day ahead. Her lack of appetite from the night before seemed to be an aberration, as she ate everything that Quinn could think to put in front of her with enthusiasm, wiping dirty hands on her sleep shift and necessitating that they visit the fresher again before she was dressed in her day clothes. Again, she insisted on attempting to dress herself, and Quinn thought it prudent to allow her, correcting the line of buttons down her tunic and helping her with the fastenings on her shoes. When she was dressed she proceeded to start exploring the array of toys in her room, and he left her happily attempting a puzzle when the communicator announced the arrival of their contact.

The Fury docked with his smaller ship easily enough. Vette had certainly improved in piloting skills in the years since he’d crewed with her, unless she’d been teaching Jaesa how to fly. The former Jedi apprentice had a hunger for knowledge that Quinn could have admired if he were not so suspicious of her motives. Vopenir had always trusted her more than Quinn thought was warranted given her past, but her recent elevation to the title of Sith Lord meant questioning her decisions and competence was not a healthy past time for anyone. 

Once docking was complete he went to meet them at the airlock. It slid open to reveal Jaesa, looking tired looked tired, dressed in flamboyant red armor of the sort he had seen favoured by many sith in the past year. Quinn raised an eyebrow and she sighed. 

“Don’t ask,” she said. Behind her, Vette was tugging a crate of supplies taken from Quinn’s personal residence, as well as some extra he had asked her to procure before their meeting.

“You’re sure about this, grumpy pants?” she said. “I thought you hated Balmorra.”

“I do not relish returning,” Quinn said. “But the posting was available, the pay grade is only one below my current, and it is a long way from Dromund Kaas.”

“You are wise to take her from here,” Jaesa said. “There are many who would seize upon the daughter of the wrath in the belief that she would give them a bargaining chip on their way to power.”

Quinn nodded. That had been his own assessment. While no one aside from the three people present knew that Valdin even existed, if Quinn had attempted to set up house in his old apartments with a half-mirialan child in his care it would take no time at all for the sith to make the logical conclusion.

“Where is she?” Jaesa asked, and Quinn felt a small surge of fear. A voice in his head reminded him that she was sith, she was one of those on Dromund Kaas still jockeying for power, and she had just named his daughter as a possible bargaining chip.

Vopenir had trusted her, he reminded himself. They had been friends, insofar as two sith could ever be, he supposed. He swallowed and turned. “Valdin?” he called softly.

She came out of her room holding a stuffed Bantha in one arm, a thumb stuck in her mouth. 

“Valdin we have discussed this,” he said sternly, and the thumb was hastily removed and wiped on her trousers.

“Sweet goddess!” Vette squealed, dropping the handle of the crate pallette, “she is  _ adorable!”  _ Vette moved forward slowly, making sure not to startle Valdin, and hunkered down in front of her. “Hello,” she said. “I’m your auntie Vette.”

Valdin blinked up at her, head tilting, then smiled, dropping her bantha and reaching up to grasp one of Vette’s lekku with two hands. Vette laughed delightedly, and turned her head to give the child better access, the lekku curling around Valdin’s arms and making her giggle. 

“Blue!” Valdin said, obviously delighted, and Vette nodded.

“Yup. And  _ you’re  _ green. Like your mama.” She tweaked Valdin’s nose and Valdin giggled again.

“She’s beautiful,” Jaesa said, sounding wistful. “You must be very proud Quinn.”

He blinked. It seemed incongruous to be proud of something… someone... he had so little conscious input into creating, but looking inward he realised that yes… he was proud. Fiercely so. 

“My thanks, Jaesa,” he said. “I am.”

Jaesa touched his arm gently. “Lord Vopenir would have been, as well.” 

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. It was possible, of course, that she would have seen something to be proud of in the child. But he doubted that she would have been as pragmatic as he about her discovery. If Darth Baras had not already been dead there would have been a reckoning, of that he had no doubt.

The violation of her body, even without her knowledge, would have been an insult she would have difficulty seeing past. That Valdin was an innocent would not stop her from being a representation of Baras’ power over her. As though she needed any more reasons to despise the man. To despise Quinn, for having allowed it to happen.

There was not a day that passed where he did not wish he had killed him himself.

“Dromund Kaas is falling,” Jaesa was saying, as Vette was led by the hand into Valdin’s room. She wanted to show her her other toys, it seemed, and Vette was delighted to oblige. “You are wise to move from Imperial space. I have… a contact, on Balmorra, or at least he was there the last time we visited. You may benefit from his support.”

Quinn raised his eyebrow. “A contact?”

Jaesa coughed a little. “I did not entirely give up my republic connections. He is the brother of… a friend.”   


“Jedi,” Quinn said, not able to stop his lip from curling.

“No. Although he has no love for the Empire, but he is a good man, and if I ask it of him, will help you.”

“I do not anticipate needing any further assistance, Jaesa,” Quinn said. “But… I thank you, for the offer.”

“It stands,” she said. “Should you need it. And it goes without saying that if you need  _ us,  _ Vette and I will come to your aid. We both owe Vopenir that much. And I suspect Vette will find it a pleasure.”

“We must be cautious,” Quinn said. “I know that members of the council believe she is still alive, and that she still wields influence. Darth Acina searches for signs of her and Darth Imperius as if their locations could somehow give her farcical grasp on power some legitimacy. Any contact between us will be suspect.”

She sighed. “I know,” she said. “The council has little coherency at present, but should their focus turn to you at all I will do my best to distract them,” Jaesa said. “Unfortunately my own influence is waning. I do not think it out of the realms of possibility that Vette and I will have to go into hiding, just as Imperius has.”

Quinn nodded. “I understand. And your assistance is greatly appreciated. I know that we did not part under the best of terms.”

There was a pause, and Jaesa’s dark eyes rested on his. He was surprised to see sympathy there.

“I understand why you did it,” she said softly. “To be caught between the whims of two lords of the sith… it is a situation I would not wish on my greatest enemy.”

He took a breath, surprised at how much her understanding meant to him. “I was at fault. I should have placed my trust in her from the beginning.”

“You could not have known,” Jaesa said. “And…” she hesitated. “Quinn, you are allowed to move on. I believe she would wish it.”

Was that not what she’d wanted him to do, on Rishi, when she’d finally ordered him from her side? Move on?

Perhaps find a way to forgive himself, even if he could never hope for forgiveness from her.

“If the banthas and the ginx join forces,” he could hear Vette saying from Valdin’s room, “I think they can overpower the rancors…”

He took a breath. “One final favor,” he said. “Are you able… can you determine if she is force sensitive? I am aware that it does not pass down through generations with any reliability but given her mother… and my own…”

“Your parents were sith?”

“There are several sith in my ancestry, yes.”

“She is very young. But I can attempt to see for you.”

“Please do,” he said.

Jaesa took a breath. “If she is, you know that the Empire requires that…”

_ “Damn _ what the empire requires,” Quinn said, forcefully.

She squeezed his arm, and he saw her smile. “Good,” she said. 

Vette and Valdin were both sitting cross-legged on the floor of the room as Quinn and Jaesa entered. Vette was acting out some elaborate scenario with the stuffed bantha and a stuffed ginx that Quinn did not even remember purchasing. There was a model rancor, something that he had decided was probably too frightening to have as a toy, which he had put near the bottom of the box in the room, but looking at how many other toys were scattered around on the floor he concluded that Valdin had pulled everything out to look for it.

Jaesa’s eyes misted a little, looking down at the twi’lek woman and a few pieces of a puzzle slotted into place in Quinn’s mind.

Valdin looked up at them as they entered, tilting her head, and Jaesa hunkered down next to her.

“Hello little one,” she said. “My name is Jaesa.”

Valdin looked up at her. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Valdin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Valdin,” Jaesa said. 

“You’re pretty,” Valdin said, reaching up to touch Jaesa’s face.

“She is, isn’t she?” Vette said, and Jaesa smiled, chuckling under her breath. 

“Thank you, Valdin,” she said, putting her hand over Valdin’s small one and holding onto it. Valdin didn’t object, and Jaesa put her other hand on the child’s shoulder, closing her eyes as Quinn watched, anxiously. Valdin’s eyes widened as Jaesa breathed deeply for a moment, then she pulled her hand back, looking down at it curiously. Jaesa opened her eyes, then brushed a strand of hair from Valdin’s cheek, nodding. 

“Thank you, Valdin,” she said.

Quinn ducked back outside and Jaesa joined him. 

“Yes,” she said simply. “I can give you some basic exercises. Techniques to make sure she is at home with her power. But she will eventually require training.”

Quinn resisted the urge to rub his temples. “As you say,” he said.

“There are options…other than the sith,” Jaesa said, hesitantly.

“She will  _ not  _ go to the Jedi,” Quinn said. “They are currently throwing themselves at Arcann and being cut down in droves. I will not send my daughter to be fodder in a pointless war.”

Jaesa winced and looked away. “No,” she said. “It is not the best time for the order. You are right.” 

He felt his hands ball into fists and his jaw clench. Force sensitive and born into a galaxy that was busy, as always, pitting them against each other in a pointless battle of light and dark and whatever the Eternal Empire claimed to be. 

He forced his hands to open, his jaw to relax. He would deal with this. She would not have to be apprenticed to a sith, and she would not be sent into the arms of the republic. There was a way. He was certain of it.

Jaesa was watching him, and he swallowed, pushing the turmoil of feelings churning in his gut down and away where she would not sense them. “We should go,” she said finally. A peal of giggles, both adult and human, rolled out from Valdin’s room and Jaesa shook her head. “I’ll attempt to drag Vette away.”

 

Extracting Vette from Valdin’s room took a fair amount of effort, and once the two women were gone Valdin was dejected for several hours. Only Quinn allowing her to sit on his lap while he plotted the course to Balmorra helped, and so he worked around her, occasionally pulling her hands away from the more dangerous buttons. He found he liked it, talking her through what he was doing as he calculated trajectories, and when the time came to make the jump to hyperspace he let her rest her hand under his as they pushed the drive lever. She let out a delighted giggle as the star trails streaked past the cockpit window.

“We’ll make a pilot of you yet,” he said, and she looked up at him, eyes wide, grinning with triumph. 

“I’ll fly!” she said, holding out her arms.

“Yes,” he said, absently kissing the top of her head. “You will.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Valdin arrive on Balmorra.

He would not pretend that it was not a little humbling and humiliating, landing on Balmorra and knowing that it was no longer under Imperial control. Both the Republic and the Empire had garrisons here, to negotiate trade and for “diplomacy”, which is why he was able to secure a position. In reality both sides kept very much to their embassy buildings in Sobrik and plotted against each other, employing all the subtlety of wayward children sulking because they had been denied their favourite toys.

Customs should have been perfunctory, but Quinn was aware there could be complications with Valdin’s paperwork.

“I have listed her as my dependent,” he informed the clerk. 

“She has no travel papers,” the harried looking sullustan said. “You must understand…”   


“She is from Korriban,” Quinn said shortly. “Her parents and her papers were destroyed in the Eternal Empire’s attack.” 

The sullustan looked sympathetic, at that. “We do have instructions to process refugees…”

Quinn tapped a finger on the countertop impatiently. Valdin, for her part, was sitting chatting to his droid who was operating the somewhat bulky and awkward baggage transport. She seemed cheerful enough, and the droid had been programmed carefully with proper care protocols. 

“That will not be necessary,” Quinn said. “Her paperwork is being dealt with on Dromund Kaas.” 

“I’m afraid we cannot allow her entry without proper…”

He shook his head. “Well then,” he said. “Perhaps you would be so good to contact Darth Lachris at Imperial Command and inform her I have arrived. She is expecting me. I am certain she will be patient as you explain to her why I have been delayed.”

The sullustan’s expression darkened. “The Empire isn’t in control here any longer,” she said. “You can’t threaten me with...”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Threaten? I am merely asking that you forward my apologies to my employer. She will be wondering where I am. You are in a position to inform her.”

The woman hissed out a breath, then flipped through Valdin’s temporary ID and keyed in a code. “There,” she said, shoving it back into his hands. 

He gave her a crisp bow. “You have my thanks,” he said. “I shall be sure to forward my daughter’s permanent details to you once they arrive from Dromund Kaas.”

“Just go,” she said. 

Quinn turned on his heel and motioned to the droid to follow. Valdin sat on top of one of the smaller crates, rocking back and forth as the transport moved, and Quinn lightly stepped up to sit next to her and be certain that she did not topple off.

“It’s very big here,” she said. She appeared to have found her voice in the past day of travel and he was pleased at how formed and precise her sentences were. He had been afraid, at first, that her education was lacking, considering who her carers were, but then again Baras’ instructions had been extremely detailed and Quinn knew only too well what the cost of disobeying his them could be. It was no real surprise, therefore, that the woman on KX-32 had seen to it that Valdin was properly stimulated.

He knew that she had other children. Perhaps Valdin’s presence had given them benefits also. It amused him darkly to think that Baras’ influence, past his death, could actually work to better the lot of people he undoubtedly despised.

Still, his capacity to recruit those less fortunate had been his greatest strength. Most sith, when presented with those beneath them, had the instinct to crush and exploit. Baras had made most of those who served him believe they were favoured.

He swallowed, trying to rid the taste of bile from his mouth, and smiled down at Valdin, who was pointing out towers and speeders the likes of which he knew she would never have seen in ever increasing delight. He smoothed a hand over her hair and let her chatter wash over him, being certain to notice and comment on those things she found most intriguing, attempting to give her some idea of Sobrik’s geography in relation to the rest of the planet.

It had changed significantly since his last visit. He was loathe to admit that the Empire’s presence had been stifling, but the severe buildings he remembered as grey and forboding were now painted in a variety of bright colours and hung with flags and various other kinds of drapery. Where once there had been the constant presence of orderly Imperial soldiers, now civilians scurried from place to place, going about their business, talking and laughing with each other.

Still there was an air of tension to the city that Quinn was too well trained not to notice. The Eternal Fleet had yet to make its presence known personally here, but he knew several planets had been blockaded and sanctions were being imposed. There were rumours of battle stations being built above key resource rich planets, and the citizens of Balmorra must know that eventually their factories and workers would once more be pressed into the service of the strongest power.

Their freedom, so bitterly fought for, would be short lived.

Quinn had rented an apartment near the Imperial Embassy, an area of town that while cleaner and better maintained than many other areas of the city, was suspiciously under inhabited. Quinn made a note to look into acquiring some security droids to watch over the apartment while he was at work, extra details to be certain of Valdin’s safety in the times he could not be present and she was not in care. The droid was programmed to see to her physical needs, but she would soon require the company of other children if she was to be properly socialised.

He had secured her a place at a school outside of the Imperial Quarter. Her obvious mirialan heritage would make her a target were she to attend an Imperial school, and their garrison was small enough that there was not a facility dedicated to the education and care of children born to those stationed here in any case. She was too young to start official studies, however, and for now she would spend his working hours with the droid, or in care at a facility a short distance into Sobrik. Quinn would be going there personally to interview the establishment’s staff, but that was for tomorrow. Today, he had hired droids to help with unpacking, and he was required to present himself to Darth Lachris.

Explaining to Valdin that he needed to leave for work proved harder than he had anticipated. She cried when he left her at the door, the droid holding her hand as she sniffed. 

She had not cried in his presence before. He was overwhelmed by how much stress it caused him.

He hunkered down on one knee and took her hands in his. 

“I will have to leave each day to work,” he said. “I am sorry, Valdin, but you are required to get used to this.”

“Can’t I come with you?”

He had a brief vision of Valdin sitting with him at his desk at the embassy, as she had sat in his lap while he piloted the ship to Imperial space, but the image was dismissed as soon as it came to mind. She would no doubt lose patience far more rapidly while he wrote reports and dealt with logistics than she had when she had the ability to pilot a starship, and there was no way he would ever willingly bring her into the presence of Darth Lachris.

Or any sith, for that matter. 

“It is not safe for children,” he said. This was a mistake. She threw herself forward and into his arms, sobbing, and he was forced to gently disengage her and pass her back to the droid. 

“I am sorry, Valdin. I will be back as soon as possible.”

She hid her face in the droid’s chest and continued to cry, leaving Quinn in a state of some distress as he climbed into the speeder that would take him to Darth Lachris’ offices. 

 

Quinn had cause to thank Baras and the Council for keeping Vopenir’s race and even her gender as much of a secret as possible. The Emperor’s Wrath was a shadowy figure, one whom could strike from the shadows at any time, and Marr and the rest of the council had agreed once Baras was dead that it was best to keep her as anonymous as possible, a name to be feared, disconnected from a face.

Quinn knew that part of this deception had to do with the fact that Vopenir had been a Mirialan -- such a powerful figure with such standing in the council being neither human nor pureblood sith was a source of embarrassment for those more bigoted members of the council. 

Only those who had worked closely with him in their time together knew that his former wife was the Emperor’s Wrath, and only those who had seen her directly knew her race, so Quinn was reasonably certain no one on Balmorra, at least, would draw the connection between Valdin and Vopenir. Vopenir’s time on the planet -- where they had first met -- had been brief. She had deftly avoided being drawn into Lachris’ bid for power, and the Barsen’thor’s successful campaign to install a new Governor and independence on Balmorra had passed them both by, far more involved as they were with Baras’ schemes to expose Jaesa.

As such, she had never met Darth Lachris, and Quinn had been reassigned before she had taken the reigns of power for the Empire on Balmorra. It was a posting she had no doubt anticipated giving her a large amount of influence -- when she had taken it Balmorra had been very firmly in Empire hands. Within two months of her landing, however, it had declared and held its independence, and she had been forced to remain on the planet as a constant reminder of her failure. Even the decimation of the dark council and Darth Acina’s ascendence had not granted her reprieve from her supposed humiliation.

This made serving under her command something of a risk -- sith who believed they had nothing to lose were the most dangerous. 

Quinn, however, was experienced in dealing with sith in ways that most were not.

He stood at parade rest in front of her desk as she inspected him.

“I am uncertain as to why you felt the need to inflict your presence on us, Captain,” she said. “We are little more than a token the Empire leaves here in a pathetic attempt to believe it is still relevant. You should have stayed on Dromund Kaas.”

“My lord, I believed it was prudent to be as far from Dromund Kaas as possible given the current political climate,” he said. “And I remember my time on Balmorra with some fondness.”  _ Some of it,  _ he added, silently.

She snorted. “You would be the only one, Captain,” she said. “Your duties will be perfunctory, you are required to look professional and deflect attention away from me. And that is all.”

“My lord,” he said.

“The local population is irritatingly intelligent and restricts my activities to an absurd degree. I am off planet as often as is possible given how closely Acina holds my leash. The day Arcann chokes the life from her and the last vestiges of our rancid Empire is the day I celebrate.”

“As you say, my lord.” 

Lachris looked him up and down, a glint in her eyes. “You’re quite the proper officer, aren’t you, Captain?” she said. “Perhaps  _ you _ could be a source of diversion in this cesspit of mundanity.”

He kept his expression neutral and his voice level. “My lord?” 

“You will find this posting as dull as I,” she said. “Especially given your previous assignments. You have seen action in some of the most hard fought and won battles in the Empire’s history, Balmorra will be nothing but dull drudgery for you.” She smiled. Leaned forward a little. “I could make things more interesting for both of us.”

“I exist to serve, my lord,” he said, inclining his head, and doing his best to sound bored. 

The light of interest that was kindled in her died almost as quickly as it had appeared. Quinn for his part, was quite certain he was in no danger of ever being ruffled by the attentions of a sith again, and while there was a tinge of fear deep in his heart that she would see his lack of interest as a challenge, he kept it so thoroughly buried that it would take even the most subtle and motivated of force users some time to dig it out.

He was accustomed to deception on this account, more so than on any other. 

“Tssk,” she said waving a hand. “You are no doubt too old to last long enough for any real enjoyment.” 

That stung, a little, he was vain enough, and honest enough with himself, to acknowledge it. He winced, looking down. “As you say,” he said, allowing some of that hurt to reach his voice. 

She chuckled, obviously amused by his vanity. “Does it make you long for your youth again, Captain? Those tired eyes and that grey in your hair. Were you ever able to satisfy in the bedchamber or have I found the real reason for your untimely divorce?”

Giving her the opportunity to humiliate him in small ways, allowing her some petty victories, would go a long way towards deflecting her other, far less wanted attentions.

“My lord,” he said, swallowing. “It was an unsatisfactory partnership for many reasons,” he said. 

She laughed. “As I suspected, Captain. Sith should not dally with non-sith. She was quite well regarded, in the Council, was she not? Keeping such as you as her husband would sully her name. A lowly Captain, past his prime. It is no wonder she was rid of you.”

These were humiliations he was willing to bear. And he was able to take quiet comfort in the knowledge that if Lachris had dared speak of him like this to Vopenir’s face, even after his betrayal, she would have died. 

Slowly, and painfully. 

“You are boring me,” Lachris said. “And I despise boredom. Dismissed, Captain. Do not bother to deliver your reports to me in person, I shall not be reading them in any case. Do your job, and do it well, and perhaps you will survive longer than the farce our Empire has become.”

He left Lachris’ chambers and was escorted to the offices of the Embassy, where he had a desk, and a partition that cut him off from his fellow workers. They avoided his eyes as he passed, and he made a note to check efficiency and morale as soon as possible. If Lachris truly was this disaffected he suspected morale and productivity would be terrible, and although she was partially correct in the assessment that what the Empire did on this planet was no longer relevant or necessary, he would be damned if he let an office under his command rot.

No, he would make this posting work, it would not be a blemish on his career, no matter that said career meant as little to the Empire as it had come to mean to him.

He sat at his workstation, running his hands across the desktop, starting up his console. 

An empty personal holo projector -- the type he had seen on countless desks during his tenure in the military, sat on the smooth grey surface. A holo of Valdin would go there nicely, he decided, a reminder of why he was doing this, an incentive to keep his head down. Do his job. Survive.

So that she might have a chance at the life that Baras and her parentage had done everything in their power to strip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that if the Barsen'thor completes their quest chain on Balmorra Lachris dies, but as Vopenir's timeline is a sith warrior as outlander time line I'm willing to twist canon a little in this case. She is so deliciously awful. Also Toby would spare her, if she was given the chance, because Toby is a soft heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valdin needs a doctor. There really is only one doctor suitable don't you think?

Quinn did not spend a full day at the embassy -- he had only landed in the late morning and most of the men and women stationed only did the barest minimum of work hours. As such he was back at the apartment before nightfall, to find Valdin had gotten over her tears of the morning and was busy building some kind of complicated puzzle with the droid in the room he had designated her playroom.

The other droids had completed unpacking, and the apartment was arranged in much the same way Quinn had always arranged his living spaces, perhaps with a little more attention paid to placing items of value on higher shelves. Again on his ride back from the embassy he had noted how empty the district was, how those few civilians who did seem to reside there did not linger on the streets and were unwilling to make eye contact with him when he passed.

He would follow up on security droids as soon as possible. 

“You’re back!” Valdin ran to him as he stood in the doorway of her playroom. The droid bowed to him and retreated to the kitchen to begin preparing their evening meal and Quinn hunkered down on one knee to give Valdin the embrace she was inclined to demand. 

“I shall have to leave for some time each day,” he said to her. “Soon, though, you’ll be spending the day with other children. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Hara and Geran?” she said. 

He blinked. Her former carer, of course, had had children of her own. Valdin must have made bonds with them. He had not thought that perhaps she might miss them. 

“No, Hara and Geran are still with their mother. There will be new children.”

She looked mildly disappointed, but was easily enough distracted by showing him the puzzle she had been completing with the droid. Most of the pieces were in the correct places, but he helped her sort the few remaining ones, pointing out where she’d matched the patterns wrong. 

They passed the evening very pleasantly, eating a well cooked meal and preparing for bed in somewhat more luxury than was afforded in the confines of his ship. He read two stories to her at her insistence, and managed to leave the room for nearly ten minutes before she padded out and asked him to return. He steeled himself and managed to leave her four more  times, the fifth time anxiously sitting at his work desk waiting for her to emerge for at least an hour before he was reasonably sure she was sleeping. A short check confirmed it, and as he breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down, he realised he had managed to do precisely nothing productive during the time she had been fighting sleep.

That could end up being a problem, should he have to bring work home with him. He would have to make sure he was as productive as possible while at the embassy. He doubted Lachris would go out of her way to overload him with tasks -- his brief sojourn at the there  that day had revealed that his most pressing concerns would be organising supplies and communications for the offices. Still, he had other interests, especially now, and he would have to budget his time accordingly.

 

They established a routine, in those first few days. Each morning Quinn ate breakfast with Valdin and helped her dress, then he left for work. Her tearfulness of the first day was repeated on the second, and on the third, but by the fourth day she simply sniffed and ran off to her room. He was thankful, but also, surprisingly, a little hurt. Still, when he returned that afternoon she was effusive in her delight to see him again, and he took comfort in that.

Getting her to sleep continued to be a trial, however. All of his research indicated that he needed to be persistent, and consistent, and he was, but by the end of the first week he could not deny he was slightly frayed at the edges from the constant routine of having to leave her room and check every ten minutes to see if she was sleeping. Logic suggested that eventually she would relent and not follow him out or call for him once he had left. 

Logic was beginning to seem as frayed as his own nerves.

In any case he settled in as well as could be expected at the Embassy. Lachris had been correct when she had surmised he would find his duties onerous. While there was some comfort to be had in the mundanity of numbers and reports, when he had travelled with Vopenir he had taken pride in knowing that said numbers and reports were to do with the most powerful people in the galaxy. Now he dealt with the comings and goings of a small group of Imperial traders who were listless and disinterested in anything other than profit. The few communications he had with them directly hinted at a sense of impending doom across the core worlds -- great events that he was as far removed from as it was possible to be.

Quinn chafed at being so far away from Dromund Kaas at the same time as recognising that it was possible he had put enough distance between him and the seat of the Empire’s power. 

Valdin’s paperwork came through from the capital at the end of the first week, and in order to finalise it he was required to give her a complete medical check up. While he was technically qualified to do that himself, as her legal guardian he was not allowed by law, which necessitated him finding a local Balmorran doctor to carry out the duty for him. He was grateful that the Embassy had no medical personnel on hand aside from himself, he wished as little of Valdin’s health and genetic makeup to fall into the hands of the Empire as possible. Still he was somewhat uncertain about taking her to see a medical professional who had not been trained as he had been.

Valdin was delighted that he apparently had a day off (he was permitted two days off per week, although in the past he had rarely needed to take them, here he found it difficult to find enough to do to fill a single day of work, let alone five, and so he anticipated taking them regularly) and chattered to him the whole speeder ride to the medical centre in Sobrik. It was, ironically, quite close to Quinn’s former barracks, although the building had been converted to a Balmorran Security outpost. He wondered idly if they had retained the Imperial equipment -- he had left it behind, like everything else that had coloured his life on this planet, glad to be rid of it.

The waiting room of the doctor’s office had a small holo-game in one corner designed to entertain any children, and Valdin leapt on it as though she didn’t have fifty other similar games at the apartment. There was a negotiation with a small rodian child as to who was there first, and Quinn was pleased to note that Valdin came out on top in said negotiation, the rodian content to sit and watch as she used the interface to… make animals of some kind. They became increasingly impractical and evolutionarily ridiculous while Quinn fretted at the delay for their appointment -- he had arrived precisely five minutes earlier than their agreed time and they were not called into the doctor’s office until sixteen minutes past it.

Still, Valdin seemed happy, and Quinn had his datapad to amuse him, and the doctor’s office was exceptionally busy. All reports had assured him that this was the best doctor on Balmorra -- although his residency was patchy at best and he usually only stayed on planet for a month or two at a time. 

When Valdin’s name was finally called Quinn took her hand and let her into the office. Less opulent than he was expecting given the doctor’s reputation, his trained eye took in the framed holos on the walls citing his medical qualifications and the clean and professional look of his equipment and was at least partially satisfied. 

Until, that was, he chanced to look upon the doctor in question.

“Well hel-lo, Lieutenant Quinn,” the man behind the desk said, smiling all over his smug republic face. “Fancy seeing you back on Balmorra.”

Quinn blinked. The name on the registry had clearly read “Rahn”, yet there, sitting behind the desk, was Dr Archiban Froderick Kimble, former Balmorran resistance fighter, long time scourge of the empire, current whereabouts (despite numerous and extremely highly priced bounties that Quinn himself would happily contribute to paying) firmly listed in Imperial files as  _ unknown. _

“If I understand Balmorran law correctly,” Quinn said stiffly, “using a false name whilst practicing medicine is a grade six offense and punishable by up to four years hard labour.”

“You’ve been reading up, Lieutenant!” Kimble said. “Nice to know the Empire makes sure you’re informed.”

“It’s Captain now,” Quinn said between clenched teeth. “And you would do well to give me a reason not to call the authorities immediately.”

“If I  _ had  _ used a false name, believe me, I would be the first to turn myself in, but I’m afraid it’s all perfectly legitimate, even enough for you old boy.” Kimble winked and held up his hand, wiggling the fingers so that Quinn could see the band of gold on the third. “Rahn’s my  _ married _ name.”

Quinn snorted. “That is even  _ more  _ unlikely,” he said.

“I am hurt. Shocked and hurt that you think I would be above the fine and noble institution of marriage, Lieu…  _ Captain.  _ Some of us are quite good at it, even.” Doc leaned forward and gave Valdin a twinkling smile. “Not your usual company, old boy. Hello there little one, you’ve come to see Doc to make you all better, have you?”

Valdin tugged on Quinn’s arm. “What’s on his face?” she asked. 

Kimble frowned and stroked his moustache. “This is a moustache, cheeky, and a very fine one at that. You should get grumpy here to grow his own instead of sporting stubble all the time like he does, it adds weight and dignity to any face.”   
Valdin giggled. “He’s funny!” she said.

Quinn shook his head, putting one hand on her shoulder and turning to leave. “We’ll find another doctor,” he said. 

“But I like him!”

“She has excellent taste,” Kimble said, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head. 

“She is young and impressionable.”

“She looks just like her mother,” Kimble said. “And I would never have called the Wrath impressionable. I suppose she’ll grow out of it.”

Quinn had frozen, one foot not quite on the floor. He turned his head slowly, to find Kimble’s disconcertingly intelligent eyes fixed on his face.

“If I’m going to be her doctor,” he said, “you really didn’t think you’d be able to keep that little piece of information from me for very long, did you?”

The sensible thing would be to walk out. The sensible thing would be to find a different doctor, ignore what was almost certainly nothing more than a lucky guess on Kimble’s part, and be certain in the knowledge that even should he presume to attempt to share his knowledge with anyone else they would never believe him.

But…

Lachris had been Darth Marr’s apprentice and she had heard only the barest of rumours about his marriage and the Wrath’s duties after the death of the Emperor; Kimble had just demonstrated that he knew more about Vopenir’s race, her position, her relationship to Quinn than most people in the dark council. 

He sucked in a breath. “Do you intend to expose us?” he asked.

Kimble folded his hands on his desk. “I like knowing things about my patients,” he said. “Since for the obvious reason, it helps me to treat them. Your daughter has specific medical needs, Captain, she’s half human and that means differences in her metabolism and her food sensitivities and stars forbid if she ever has an accident and needs a blood transfusion.”

Quinn swallowed. He was a field medic because he had seen it as a way to sidestep Broysc’s unrelenting quest to stop him from advancing his career. In the end the Grand Moff had managed to close down even those avenues to him, and he had let his qualifications slide. Of course he had known there would be differences in Valdin’s physiology, but Kimble’s serious demeanor made him hesitate.

“Naturally I would have disclosed anything medically relevant should she be hurt,” he said. “And you have not answered my question.”

Kimble gave a bright smile. “No,” he said. “No I’m not going to expose you, the Republic wouldn’t care and I’m not in the habit of giving the Sith information that might lead to a kid getting hurt.”

“How…?”

Kimble shrugged. “Met the Wrath once. She probably wouldn’t remember me, since she was unconscious at the time. I was called in to help with the wounded on Yavin 4.”

“Revan,” Quinn said through clenched teeth.

Kimble waved a hand. “We did extensive bloodwork, and the republic being the republic kept it all on file. I’ll admit to me guessing when I saw you’d made an appointment, but considering I’m going to have to take blood from her that guess was always going to be confirmed, one way or another.”

“The republic still has that bloodwork on file?” Quinn asked, suddenly concerned.

“It’s probably buried in an archive somewhere, yeah. The Jedi do like to study those things. Always got their noses into something or other. Not like it’s going to do them any good, what with the Wrath being…” he coughed delicately, glancing at Valdin, who still held Quinn’s hand. “Any way I have other patients waiting so if you’re going to take her some place else you’d probably better go now. Nice to see you again, though Lieutenant. You’re keeping well.”

Quinn ran through seven different scenarios in his mind, trying to find a way to contain this information, trying to think of some hold he had on Kimble that would ensure his silence. He could not simply be killed -- a man so prominent in the republic would be missed and Quinn’s connection to him would undoubtedly be traced. Money was no object, bribery was a possibility, but Quinn finally came to the conclusion that the best possible way to ensure Kimble’s silence was to allow him to become Valdin’s physician.

He had done his best to blot out his memories of his time on Balmorra, but Kimble had been enough of a thorn in the Empire’s side that he had researched the man as thoroughly as possible. He knew that he was, despite a reputation for playing fast and loose with women, men, money and opportunity, would stick to his ethics over anything else. He knew that Kimble was a doctor, first and foremost, and he took his oath to that effect more seriously than he’d ever taken anything else.

If he was bound by that oath to do no harm to Valdin, Quinn was confident that he would not betray it.

“Dr Kimble, I have little cause to trust any physician on this planet more than you,” he said. “And Valdin appears to find you tolerable. If you do not object to being her physician I would be…” he stopped. The ending of that sentence wasn’t in any way honest or accurate. “It would be an arrangement I can accommodate.”

Kimble grinned, in what seemed to be genuine delight. “Well then,” he said. “I’m kind of surprised at you, Lieu… Captain, but I’m not going to complain.” He stood up and came around the table, kneeling down in front of Valdin and smiling at her. “Hey darlin’,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Valdin,” she said. 

“‘S pretty. Did your daddy call you that?”

Valdin looked up at Quinn, eyes serious, and Quinn felt his breath catch in his throat. Up to now, Valdin had called him nothing at all. He could not even remember if he had told her his name. 

“No,” she said. 

“Well,” Kimble looked up at him, disapproving, and Quinn scowled. “You can call  _ me _ Doc,” he said. “And your daddy is going to stay here while I examine you and make sure you’re all healthy, okay?”

She smiled, but didn’t let go of Quinn’s hand. Nodded. “All right, Doc,” she said. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so confession time - I am an ex teacher so if this gets too involved and stuff it's mainly because I LIVED THIS (not that I was a resistance fighter or anything but basically yeah, I hope you enjoy long descriptions of kindergarten classrooms, I guess?). The perils of Parent Fic.

Quinn could not completely hide his resentment of Kimble inserting himself into their lives on the way back from the doctor’s surgery. He had to remind himself that Valdin was force sensitive, prone to pick up on his moods far more than an average child, and given the uncertainty surrounding her situation for so long would be doubly vulnerable to any outward sign of temper from him. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncertain or afraid in his presence. He had enough of that from his own parents when he was a child -- walking on tenterhooks around the apartment in Dromund Kaas, piled with expectations that stemmed from their own disappointments.

She fidgeted and fussed in the transport on the way home, complaining that she was bored, that she was tired, that she was hungry, and Quinn forced himself to take a few deep breaths and deal with her patiently until they got home. 

Once they were inside he called her into his office -- an area that she had until now been barred from. Her eyes were wide and she looked afraid, and he swallowed, kneeling in front of her to make sure she was listening.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said. “You understand that, don’t you Valdin?”

She blinked. “Yes,” she said.

He smiled, brushing some hair back from her face. “Did you like Doctor Ki… did you like Doc?”

“He was funny!” she said. “And… you knew him? Don’t you like him?”

Quinn shrugged. “We knew each other a long time ago,” he said. “Back when there was… back when we were on opposite sides of a fight.”

“You fought him?”

“Not…. no not him exactly. But people like him.”

“People with mos… musst… people with hair on their faces?”

He let out a soft laugh. “No. People from the Republic. We’re from the Empire. Your mother and I… we fought the Republic for many years in a war.”

She considered this for a long moment, one hand creeping towards her face. He didn’t stop her, although he was pleased to see that the thumb didn’t manage to gain access to her mouth before her other hand came up and grasped it.

“You knew my mother?”

He smoothed a hand over her hair. “Yes. Very well.”

“Ginran said she was dead.”

“She was wrong about who your father was,” he said. “Perhaps she was wrong about that too.”

“Doc said _you_ were my father.”

“Yes.”

“Why did I live with Ginran?”

“Because…” he stopped. “Because I didn’t know about you,” he said. “And neither did your mother. If we had known, you would have lived with us. I promise you that. And I am sorry, Valdin.”

She shrugged, in that way young children had of dismissing importance. To her, it didn’t matter.

Yet.

“If you are my father can I call you Daddy?”

He swallowed. “Of course you can,” he said, when he could keep his voice steady. She grinned, an open, beautiful thing that almost made him gasp, then hugged him, hard, around the neck. He held her gently, blinking rapidly and stroking her back, wondering at how easily he was affected by her in all things.

It was dangerous. And intoxicating. 

He did not want to give it up.

A week passed and Kimble sent back a report on Valdin’s overall health that was positive in every way. Vaccinations had been administered on time and her bloodwork showed no more abnormality than could be expected with a near human hybrid, and as such she was given a clean bill of health and a certificate that would gain her entrance into the school that Quinn had picked out for her.

Darth Lachris was absent from Balmorra -- had been since the third day of Quinn’s tenure in the office, and as such arranging time to take Valdin into the school for her first day was relatively simple. The rest of the office avoided and ignored him as much as possible, several of them pegging him as an extension of their mistress -- someone who would no doubt report on their actions to the Darth unfavourably.

Quinn was happy enough to be regarded with fear and suspicion. He had no desire to make workplace friendships, and the less interest his colleagues exhibited in him or his personal life the better.

The school that Valdin would be attending was just outside the sector which housed their apartment -- a far more colorful and lively area, occupied by a wide variety of sentients from all corners of the galaxy.

The building itself was set on a large block of land that Quinn remembered being a weapons depot when the city was under Imperial control. It had obviously been extensively cleared and renovated, however, with outdoor play equipment in one corner where a brightly coloured and (in his opinion) excessively noisy collection of small sentients played in a manner that was, at the very least alarming. He tightened his grip on Valdin’s hand as they passed by, although she tugged at him, obviously keen to join the children in their reckless attempts to hurl themselves off high places and onto each other.

The Head of the School was a small, plump twi’lek woman, named Mogra Tualin, whose pale yellow skin and purple eyes were typical of her race. She wore a high collared dress, smudged in one corner with what looked like paint. Quinn reminded himself that she was working with children and quashed his surge of disapproval that she could present so unprofessionally for an important interview.

He was not the only parent, nor Valdin the only child that these people would be dealing with, a fact that was already causing him anxiety, despite the fact that he had seen several droids positioned throughout the school, obviously there for safety should a child succeed in hurting itself. He wondered how often they had to intervene, then quashed that thought as well, rightly assuming that any further ruminations on how safe Valdin would be in this environment would only lead to a marked degradation in his own mental health. It was very easy, with his training, to see dangers in even the most mundane of objects and situations, and whilst he had been on active duty he had seen those as challenges and tests of his competence, now he only saw them as obvious threats to Valdin’s safety.

Parenting, he decided, was far more trauma inducing than front line combat.

“We cover all basic fine motor skills, writing, aurebesh as well as native languages… will she wanting to learn Mirialan at all? Does she speak it?”

“Not yet,” Quinn said. “Although I have purchased several texts by…”

The woman waved her hand. “Oh, we have a very good program for our more diverse students, Havina spent time teaching jedi younglings on Coruscant, she’ll be very well looked after…”

“Jedi?” Quinn said, one eyebrow raised. He currently wore his uniform, there could be no mistaking him for Republic military, but the woman didn’t seem to be intimidated by it.

“She isn’t force sensitive, but even Jedi have to learn how to read and write, don’t they?” She smiled at him, and Quinn saw something hard in her eyes that made him revise his opinion of her upwards. 

“Of course,” he said. “And I trust in the professionalism of your staff, else I would have found a different school for Valdin to attend.” he said. Tualin’s smile deepened and she ducked her head. There was apparently going to be no mention of the unorthodox situation of an Imperial Captain with an alien daughter and he supposed that the twi’lek woman would well understand, better than many, why Quinn had not chosen to send Valdin to an Imperial school. 

“We appreciate that, Captain,” Tualin said. “And let me assure you that Valdin will be very looked after here with us, you can absolutely count on that.” She turned her eyes on Valdin who had been sitting patiently in the child sized chair next to Quinn since the interview started. “Are you ready to meet your class, Valdin?” Tualin asked, and she nodded. “Captain I’ll ask that you come with us into the school room, but once she’s settled it’s best if you leave and come back at the end of the day.”

He swallowed and nodded, standing up, and Tualin took Valdin’s hand in hers and led them both to the classroom.

He had seen holos of the inside of the school of course -- but there was no comparing an empty classroom, no matter how decorated with child artwork and clunky aurebesh alphabet banners, to one filled with twenty chattering, excited children. They were, at present, involved in some form of group activity, sitting in clusters of three or four at tables that were loaded with what looked like craft materials. Another woman -- Mirialan -- sat at the front of the classroom, surrounded by three more children -- two humans and one kel-dor, patiently going through a set of instructions on how to make whatever it was the other children were apparently already attempting.

Quinn had absolutely no idea what it was supposed to be, or even if each table was making the same thing, since the in progress projects all looked as different to each other as some of the children did to him.

“Havina,” Tualin said, so softly that Quinn was certain the teacher would not be able to hear her, but the woman looked up and gave Tualin a broad smile, her gaze immediately dropping to Valdin. Valdin was staring at the teacher as though she was a ghost, and Quinn saw her reach up a hand to her cheek -- pale green and clear of tattoos, unlike Havina’s which were dotted with tattoos far more intricate than those of Vopenir had been.

She was older, Quinn supposed, and had been brought up immersed in Mirialan culture in a way that Vopenir had not. He wondered, considering those occasions that Vopenir had taken upon herself to mark her body (her ascension to the title of lord, Darth Baras’ death) what occasions a teacher would have to do the same.

“She’s like me,” Valdin said softly. He smiled, a little sadly, and nodded. That there had been a Mirialan teacher had been the clinching factor in his choice of school. He was well aware that he would fail were he left to his own devices when it came to educating her on her native culture.

“Why don’t you go and say hello, Valdin?” Tualin said. “I’ll talk with your father for a while before he goes.”

Valdin looked up to check with Quinn, who nodded, and she approached the teachers’ desk, where she was enfolded into the group and was soon nodding and talking with the other children as Havina continued her explanation of their task.

“She will be fine,” Tualin said to him softly, leading him away from the children and towards the door of the classroom. Quinn’s eyes flickered to the droid that stood on guard in one corner, at the second in the corridor outside. “You are not alone in your security concerns, I do assure you. The President’s daughter also attends our school, and we are trained to respond to threats.”

“I do not anticipate any difficulties on that account,” he managed to force out. Unless her parentage became known there was little to no reason why anyone would show interest in Valdin. 

Nagging at the back of his mind, however, was the look on Dr Kimble’s face. The information could be found, if someone cared enough to look for it. 

He would have to do something about that.

His holo went off just as Tualin was explaining the finer points of the school curriculum to him, as though he hadn’t thoroughly gone through all their learning materials and pedagogy before he’d even considered enrolling Valdin. He did not recognise the frequency -- but anyone who could reach him was almost certainly official. “If you will excuse me, Ms Tualin?” he asked, and she inclined her head gratefully as he turned to answer.

He was somewhat surprised (although managed to hide it) to see the image of President Cordon.

“Captain Quinn,” the elected leader of “free” Balmorra was fresh faced and smiling -- a young man for such an important position, and a popular one, from all accounts. His actions leading to the planet’s liberation had been lauded as diplomatic and intelligent (at least by those outside the Empire) and before the unfortunate arrival of the Eternal Fleet, the Rift Alliance had been a burgeoning, if somewhat flimsy power on the Galactic Stage.

“President Cordan,” Quinn said, inclining his head. “To what do I give the honour of this call?”

“I’m afraid I must request a meeting with you, as soon as possible. I would have contacted you sooner but affairs of state are, unfortunately, never easy to hasten. Would you do me the honour of visiting my offices tomorrow morning?”

“Have you informed Darth Lachris that you wish to speak to me?” Quinn knew perfectly well that Lachris was uncontactable right now -- off planet pursuing her own interests that were undoubtedly diametrically opposed to the morals and goals of the man in front of him.

“Darth Lachris has assured me on several occasions that her office and her people are here for the benefit of both Empire and Balmorra, Captain,” Cordan said. Quinn stopped himself from raising an eyebrow at the non-answer. It would not inconvenience him overmuch to stop by the man’s office, however, and a good relationship with the ruling body of the planet could help him down the track, if Lachris decided to be more trouble than she was worth.

“Then I am at your disposal, Sir,” he said, inclining his head. 

Cordan named a time and signed off, and Quinn tucked his comm back into his pocket, turning to see Tualin watching him.

“The President is a good man,” she said. “Good for Balmorra.”

“I do not doubt you see him as such,” Quinn said. She folded her arms over her chest and Quinn sighed. “Madam I am here as a representative of the Empire, not as part of an invasion force, on that you have my word.”

“Forgive us if it takes some time to trust the words of Imperials,” she said, smiling a little bitterly. 

“You were in the resistance,” Quinn said, a few impressions suddenly slotting into a complete picture.

“Most of us were, in some form or another,” she said. “I prefer to teach, however.”

Quinn took a breath. “Please,” he said, “believe me when I say I chose your school because it was the best available. I have no interest in bringing my work, or the Empire, into this establishment.”

“And I would never suggest it,” Tualin said, primly. “You will understand that I needed to see you with your daughter, however, before I could be certain of your motives. As I have said, the President’s daughter also attends this school.”

A white hot flame of anger began in his belly, that she would think he could ever use Valdin in such a way, but it was quashed when he remembered other children, similarly used by the Empire.

There had been no innocents, in the sith, of that Vopenir had made him plainly aware.

“I have placed that which is most precious to me in the galaxy in your care, Madam,” he said, stiffly. “It is an act of trust to which I am not accustomed.”

“Every parent of every child in that room, Captain, has done the same.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if I am… new to this,” he said.

She reached out and touched his arm. “I can forgive you for that,” she said, and there was a twinkle in her eye. “She will be well cared for, I give you my word.”

He inclined his head. “I shall accept your word.” 

He did not add, that if she were to break it, he would personally see to her death.


	6. Chapter 6

President Cordan’s office was luxurious without being ostentatious -- thick rugs lined the floor and deep, leather chairs were arranged in front of his desk and a low table in front of them. Quinn assumed he chose to conduct interviews in the couches as a matter of course, attempting to make his guests or political opponents comfortable enough to drop their guard. It was a tactic used a lot in the republic, Quinn knew, where intimidation was frowned upon. Personally he preferred the Sith’s way of unsettling those beneath them -- although he owned that it could possibly just be what he was accustomed to.

In any case it wasn’t working this time, as the other man in the room stood ramrod straight behind the first of the couches, looking for all the world like he’d stepped straight out of a military encampment. He was another pale yellow Twi’lek, but where Tualin had been plump and rounded, he was all hard edges and sharp looks and almost certainly concealed weaponry. If Quinn hadn’t spent time reading up on him before coming back to Balmorra he would have been forgiven for thinking he was Cordan’s bodyguard.

No, this was Zenith, leader of the Balmorran opposition. The fact that Tai Cordan’s political rival was in the President’s office, from all appearances at the president’s invitation, made Quinn suspect he knew what this particular meeting was going to be about.

“Captain, thank you for taking the time to see us today,” Cordan said, earning a grunt from Zenith that made the President’s eyes flicker to him warningly. 

“The Empire is here at the invitation of the Balmorran people,” Quinn said. “It would not behoove me to decline your request.”

“An invitation is not an invitation if it is coerced,” Zenith said.

Quinn allowed himself to raise an eyebrow at Cordan, whose lips were pursed.

“Politics dictate that we allow the representatives of the republic and the empire on Balmorra, Zenith, as you well know. You do not object so strenuously to the Barsen’thor or the Battlemaster when they are in residence.”

Zenith’s lekku twitched and Quinn could have sworn Cordan was attempting to hide a smile. 

“You wouldn’t be sitting in that chair without the Barsen’thor,” Zenith said. “And the Battlemaster wields no political power when she visits.”

“Which brings us to the problem we wished to discuss with you, Captain,’ Cordan said. “Darth Lachris.”

Quinn folded his hands in front of him. “Ah,” he said.

“Her presence here is intolerable,” Zenith said. “She is guilty of war crimes against the people of Balmorra, leaving her as the Empire’s ambassador is a grave insult to our people.”

_Not half as much of an insult as Lachris believes it is to her,_ he did not say. “There are complex social rules and customs that the sith follow, minister. It is not my place to question the Empress’s decision to leave her here.”

“You Imps never question anything the sith do,” Zenith said. “Even when they murder you.”

Quinn didn’t try to keep the contempt from his voice. “The republic is not the only government that wilfully misunderstands the Empire,” he said.

“You’re all great at _willfully_ oppressing billions of…”

“What Zenith is trying to say, Captain, is…”

Zenith waved a hand. “What I’m trying to say is that we want her removed,” Zenith said, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Darth Lachris is here as Empress Acina’s representative,” Quinn said.

“We are aware of that,” Cordan said. 

“Have you contacted the Empress and expressed your displeasure?”

“We have contacted her aides,” Cordan said. “So far with no results.”

“You do understand that the Empire is currently somewhat distracted by the Zakuulan invasion?” Quinn said. “I have little doubt your request will be dealt with once the resources are available to give it the proper attention.”

“Not good enough,” Zenith said. “My people want Lachris gone, and if you’re not willing to help us we will…”

“What Zenith means to say,” Cordan interrupted, one hand out as if he could physically restrain the twi’lek’s anger, “is that it’s unlikely, as you’ve pointed out, that Empress Acina will concern herself overmuch with a diplomatic request from a planet no longer under her control.”

“I am confused as to what you wish me to do, Mr President,” Quinn said.

Cordan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Obviously we would like some support from her people as well as ours in our negotiations,” he said. “Adding the voice of the empire to that of Balmorra will perhaps hasten the process…” “I am hardly well connected,” Quinn said. 

“You travelled with the Emperor’s Wrath for years,” Zenith said. “Were included in several high level Dark Council decisions. Present on Ziost before its destruction -- involved with the defeat of the Revanites on Yavin 4…”

Quinn felt his fists clench at his sides. “I was not present on Yavin 4 when…”

“Please,” Cordan said. “We only ask that you consider adding your voice to ours. I find it difficult to believe that Lachris’ staff are entirely happy with her conduct…”

“She is sith,” Quinn said. “Myself and my staff _exist_ to serve the sith Empire. Perhaps it is difficult for free Balmorrans to comprehend that level of loyalty?”

Zenith snarled something in ryl that Quinn was certain he recognised -- Vette had been particularly colourful in her language on occasion.

“Your loyalty to the sith is not in question here, Captain,” Corden said. “If I cannot count on your help in this matter then I am afraid this audience has been a waste of all our time.”

Quinn kept his face neutral. “You have my apologies, Mr President, but you must understand that what you are asking me to do contravenes my sworn duties.”

“Funny to hear a man who tried to kill his own wife claiming he would ever be restrained by an oath,” Zenith spat.

“Zenith!” Corden admonished, shaking his head. 

Quinn didn’t wince. He had suspected for a long time that Shan would have advertised his… conflict of interest… to the entire republic. With Balmorra’s known connections to the Barsen’thor it should not have been surprising that the Balmorrans were also aware. 

Still. It hurt. 

“I would suggest that your knowledge of that incident is in no way accurate or complete,” Quinn said, pleased that his voice was steady. “Although it should indicate to you that my supposed connections with the sith hierarchy carry very little weight.” His lip twitched. “There is a reason I have been stationed here, after all.”

Corden raised an eyebrow and Zenith let out a disgusted sigh. 

“Well then, Captain,” Corden said. “Consider this an apology for a wasted trip. If you do happen to change your mind on this, do not hesitate to contact us.”

Quinn nodded sharply to Corden and left the room, only to be cornered by Zenith on the way out.

“Be assured,” Zenith said, not precisely touching Quinn, but making it very obvious that he should not attempt to get past. “If you do not do something about Lachris, my people will. Best to make sure you and yours are safe _before_ that happens.”

Quinn felt a tingling in his fingers, and an urge to draw his blaster. “I do hope that was not a threat,” he said, softly.

“No,” Zenith said, backing away. “It was a promise.”

On his way to collect Valdin he tried to remain calm, and considered his options. There was little doubt Lachris was a burden on the Balmorrans and a potential danger to himself and her staff, but removing her as the Empire’s representative only lead to the possibility of someone worse taking her place -- a sith who was more familiar with Quinn, a sith who had known Vopenir personally and could draw the connections between the Emperor’s Wrath and Valdin with ease. 

No one in the empire, aside from the Dark Council, had known that she was Mirialan. An alien, in one of the Emperor’s most trusted positions -- the rumblings amongst the dark council had been bad enough.

She had gone masked to all official engagements and their wedding had taken place before her appointment and safe from scrutiny. Of course, Rishi and Yavin 4 had destroyed any illusions that she was human in the eyes of the republic, as Doctor Kimble had proved. 

He could hope, at least, that they had not chosen to share that information with the Empire at large, but the risk, which until now he had deemed negligible, had taken a sharp spike into the worrying.

No. He could not risk exposing himself by contacting officials on Dromund Kaas, not even with Zenith’s veiled threat hanging in the air. At present Lachris was an inconvenience, but one that he was fully capable of handling. Any action on his part would only destabilise his situation.

Valdin ran to him in the doorway of her classroom when he arrived, and he was somewhat surprised when she demanded to be picked up and hugged. Over her shoulder he saw Tualin beckon to him, the teacher looking uncharacteristically concerned.

He set Valdin down, and she ran to talk to some of her friends. 

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Somewhat,” Tualin said, touching his elbow and moving him further away from the children. “There was a representative from Ambassador Lachris here today.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Valdin is not the only imperial citizen we’ve had enrolled here, although she is the only one present at the moment, so I’m somewhat familiar with the process. Apparently she is approaching the age where children of the Empire are tested for force sensitivity?”

Quinn swallowed, blood suddenly running cold. How could he have forgotten? “Indeed,” he said. He had thought, being so far from Dromund Kaas, being on a planet controlled by an independent body… he’d thought…

… he had not thought at all, obviously.

“I was under the impression they did not have the facilities to test her here,” Quinn said. “The sith presence is…”

“I do believe that Darth Lachris carries out the inspections herself,” Tualin said, and her mouth turned down bitterly at the name. Quinn swallowed. 

“I see,” he said. “Well, it will not be necessary to schedule an assessment -- she was deemed not force sensitive before we arrived.”

“You had her tested?”

He nodded. “On Korriban. The records must have been lost in the invasion.”

Tualin’s lekku twitched, but Quinn was, if anything, an extremely accomplished liar. “Oh?” she said. 

“Yes.” He sighed. “I understand that force sensitivity is no more common amongst Mirialans than it is in humans. I had hoped that she would show signs -- I have several sith in my ancestry -- but unfortunately she does not. Still, we all find our different ways to serve.”

“Well then,” Tualin said. “I’m afraid the ambassador will still require the records. She could be tested again or…?”

He shook his head. “I will contact the sith who performed the examination,” Quinn said. “She can forward a copy, I am certain.”

Tualin smiled, but there was something hard behind her eyes. “I’m glad that’s settled. We’ve grown quite fond of Valdin, it would be a shame to lose her to sith training.”

“Indeed. If that’s all?”

Tualin nodded, and Quinn called Valdin to him. She was relaxed, smiling, obviously pleased to see him, and she wrapped small arms around his leg in another hug. He brushed some hair from her forehead, nodded to Tualin, and lead her from the room.

At home he debated with himself for the time it took him to prepare their evening meal and settle Valdin in bed, until he finally pulled out his personal holocom.

Vette looked a little frazzled when she answered, and even more surprised when she saw who was calling.

“Quinn? Is there an emergency?”

Quinn’s nostrils flared. “In a manner of speaking. I do apologise for disturbing you, but I was hoping to talk with Jaesa.”

“I’ll get her,” Vette said. “Seriously though, Quinn, you look terrible. Is Valdin okay?”

“Yes,” Quinn said, trying to suppress his impatience. “But it is imperative that I speak with Jaesa, please Vette.”

“Okay, okay, hang on.”

She disappeared from view and Quinn bit at his lip while he waited. Finally Jaesa, also looking a little rumpled (he had no idea what time it was in Kaas, he realised, something he would normally have checked before calling) appeared.

“Quinn,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Jaesa,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I am afraid I have a problem that only you can solve.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Quinn received very few personal messages, given his only long term contacts in the service had been alienated by his move to Vopenir’s service, so when his datapad chimed shortly after settling Valdin to sleep he was curious.

From the school -- he blinked, of course they would wish to communicate with him regarding Valdin’s progress, Tualin had even informed him of the dates of their regular updates. He had meant to keep track of them, but Cordan’s audience had distracted him. He made a note to request those dates from the school again before scanning the report.

Valdin had made rapid progress in Tualin and Havina’s care, to the point where Tualin was recommending she enrol in the standard galactic post-preliminary courses as soon as the following year. Quinn felt a hot flush of pride reading the report _“Valdin shows a keen interest in all academic disciplines, especially science, and contributes actively and intelligently to class discussion”_ , and once he had sent back an acknowledgement he moved to Valdin’s room. She managed to fall asleep on her own nine times out of ten these days, only occasionally calling for him throughout the night, and while he was grateful for uninterrupted sleep, he found that he missed the feeling of being needed. So sometimes, as now, he simply watched her, her small mouth slightly open as she made the soft snuffling sounds of a child’s snore. The covers that they made meticulously every morning were kicked to the bottom of her bed as they were always. She did not need the warmth -- he knew this, of course. Vopenir had always slept naked, with nothing but a thin sheet even in the cold of the ship. While not nearly as adapted to the cold as a chiss, mirialans were still far more hardy when it came to low temperatures than humans.

Valdin liked the covers, however, and insisted that her bed have three layers of them. Her sheets were printed with a menagerie of animals, banthas were still a favourite, although she had begun to express an interest in varactyls and other lizards, possibly because of an individual of one of the smaller breeds being kept in a tank in her schoolroom. 

Quinn was not willing to adopt a pet at this time, although her persistent requests were beginning to wear on his resolve. He had eventually settled for “in a year” a good response, in the hope that she would be uncertain as to how long that actually was. 

He gently slid her door almost shut, leaving a crack so that the light from the kitchen would allow her to find her way should she need him during the night, and retired. He felt content, for the first time in years, and while a part of him warned that he was being complacent, that there were too many variables, that they were still in danger, he was able to push them aside, for now.

Of course, it could not last.

The following evening he was summoned to Darth Lachris’ chambers.

Quinn had faced interrogation three times in his life, twice at the hands of the republic, once at the hands of a deranged sith intent on murdering his wife. He had never cracked. Resistance to interrogation was trained into every Imperial soldier who reached more than the rank of cadet - the ability to resist pain in all of its forms was essential when so many sith took so much delight in it. Republic interrogation methods were laughable once one had been shocked with force lightning and made to feel the oppression of the dark side of the through every nerve.

Still, standing at parade rest in front of Darth Lachris, he could not help feel a twinge of fear. His own resistance to interrogation was based entirely in his ability to ignore pain. Emotional manipulation, however…

“Captain, you frustrate me,” Lachris said, lounging back in the chair behind her desk. “Not that anything on this bastard of a planet doesn’t frustrate me, but you in particular have been a thorn in my side.”

“My lord?” he kept his expression neutral, not willing to engage as she so obviously wished. 

“I am _trying_ to do you a favour, Quinn,” she said. “Had your daughter proven force sensitive, I would have undertaken her training myself, as it is you tell me she has not a hint of it, and what’s more _Darth..”_ she spat Jaesa’s title as though it pained her “Lustris was the one to carry out her assessment.”

“Darth Lustris has made many valuable contributions to the empire since her ascension…”

Lachris waved a hand. “An ex-jedi with a bleeding heart and an alien wife who spends more time on Ryloth than she does on Dromund Kaas - forgive me if I find her credentials less than satisfying. Still if she has the paperwork and your daughter really _is_ forceblind…” here Lachris leaned back and a smile that made Quinn’s heart beat in sudden fear spread over her lips... “what _can_ I do?”

“Indeed my lord.” 

She shook her head. “If it weren’t for the remnants of the council tracking my movements I would not even be here,” she said. 

“You have been absent from Balmorra for some time, my lord, but the office is quiet and I think you’ll find my reports are…”

“I have no interest in your reports Captain. If you were incompetent I would have killed you when you arrived. No. I have been doing far more _interesting_ research.” Quinn felt a sudden chill. “Specifically, Captain, I have been researching the Emperor’s Wrath.” Her smile was predatory. “Did _you_ knowthat she was mirialan?”

He wet his lips, hands gripped tight behind him. “My lord?”

“You know as well as I that she never exposed her face to those she killed and subdued. Even her gender was subject to speculation, although those who encountered her and lived seemed certain of that at least. None of us ever suspected that she might be an alien, that the emperor might put aside his preferences when it came to raw power.”

He could not say anything at this point that would not be incriminating. 

“You have nothing to say?”

“I have nothing to add, my lord.”

She chuckled,. “Well, I suppose I should not be surprised at your reticence to share, given she _was_ your wife.”

Ah. Of course.

There was no point dissembling. Lachris would take delight in attempting to get him to admit the truth. Instead he took a deep breath.

“My affairs before her disappearance were highly classified, my lord,” he said. “Am I to understand you have obtained clearance? Or has…” another possibility raised its head and he found that yes, he was, after all, still capable of hope. 

_Do you love me, Malavai?_

“Has she been discovered…?”

Lachris laughed. “Alas, no, my poor besotted captain. She is still missing, and most of the dark council is squabbling over who has the right to find her first. Vowrawn in particular seems to think he has some force given right to know her whereabouts. They all fear the influence she could wield. Some even say she would attempt to take the throne herself.”

Quinn almost snorted at that. The last thing Vopenir would want was power of that kind -- responsibility for the lives of others. She had those she considered her family -- Jaesa and Vette, even Broonmark. Beyond that, there was little concern as to the fate of the masses.

Or at least, there hadn’t been, until she’d taken up with Shan.

“The wrath was not one for the politics of the dark council, my lord.”

“Proving herself a fool,” Lachris said, standing and stalking towards him. She was a good deal shorter than he, but he would be the fool for presuming he had any physical power over her. “As a sith, the only way to guarantee one’s safety, and the safety of those that you love, is to plunge into politics or abandon the Empire altogether. Why do you think Darth Imperius left? Far too short sighted and sentimental for her own good, look at her! Breeding with a common born pirate! It was a mistake to elevate a slave to her position, even one who defeated so many powerful sith. Nox and Occulus are better, yet still have not the talent to outwit Acina and her lackeys. What they need… what _we_ need, is an edge. A source of power hitherto unknown to them.”

Her eyes glinted and Quinn had to stop himself from taking a step back. He knew what she wanted. 

She would not have it.

“Under the circumstances,” Lachris said, quietly, by his ear, “I think it prudent that I test your daughter for force sensitivity again, don’t you, Captain? It’s possible that Darth Lustris missed something in her initial investigation. I certainly think, given her heritage, she deserves closer scrutiny.”

Quinn’s reflexes were good, better than they had been during his initial posting on Balmorra, and he never, ever went anywhere unarmed. Lachris was close, and so certain of her victory that she would not suspect him capable of what he did next.

The force may have given Lachris a warning, but no warning was fast enough for her to deflect the knife that he buried in her ribs, and no healing would be able to save her from the second knife he plunged into the base of her neck.

He moved quickly enough that blood did not spurt onto his uniform, letting the body slide to the floor gently to avoid it splashing any more than absolutely necessary, he quickly to the computer station on her desk.

His hands were steady as he disabled and wiped all security footage of the past hour. There was little point attempting to scrub his DNA from the room, in any case he was an employee and would immediately be under suspicion, but he could do his utmost to cover tracks and he knew at least one person who might be willing to help him.

He took out his personal holocom and contacted Zenith.

Quinn had killed before, of course. Often, in the course of his service to Lord Vopenir, but before that he had taken lives as an Imperial Officer. He had only ever taken pleasure in the act once, when he’d choked the life from Moff Broysc -- a man who had caused the deaths of countless other soldiers, a man who had done his utmost to be sure Quinn would never progress, never advance. It had been a mercy, Quinn knew that, the madness in Broysc’s eyes as he died and his weak hands clutched at his collar… but it had also been a pleasure.

He had never understood the dark side of the force so well as he had in that moment.

This, though. This was messy, and necessary, and unpleasant and inconvenient. Zenith’s people arrived more quickly than Quinn had anticipated, the building completely cleared through a false alarm delivered via the opposition leader’s slicing network, the body collected, the room completely wiped clean.

Quinn himself found himself in a what he assumed was a Balmorran safe house -- a place Imperial Intelligence would have given a great deal to know of during the resistance. 

“My daughter…” he asked one of the many uniformed twi’leks who came and went from the small room in which he waited.

“She is at home,” a woman told him. “With her service droid. Our people are watching her.”

“When will I…”

“Zenith will return shortly,” she said. “We must be certain that there is as little suspicion as possible.”

He waited, sitting with his hands clasped loosely between his knees. Although he was certain he would not be found, there was always the possibility that someone would visit his apartment and enquire about his whereabouts from Valdin’s carer.

The droid would respond honestly. He would have to wipe its mind as soon as he got home. Valdin would not be pleased, but her safety was more important than any attachment she had made towards it.

An hour passed. Two. Quinn resisted the urge to stand and pace. He had checked his uniform and hands many times since the murder, and he was certain there was no trace of Lachris on his person, yet he found himself obsessively running his hands and eyes over his sleeves, pulling his knives from their sheaths and running his fingers over their clean edges. 

A commotion near the entrance to the cave brought him back to the moment, and he saw the hint of yellow lekku over the tops of the heads of the rebels. 

Zenith was hardly a smiling man -- but his lips twisted in something approaching pleasure as Quinn stood to greet him.

“Huh,” he said. “It seems the Imp has a spine after all.” Quinn cocked an eyebrow but didn’t dignify him with a response. “You caused us trouble, Captain. Some notice would have been good.”

“Circumstances changed,” Quinn said shortly. “I came to understand the reasonableness of your request.”

Zenith’s lekku twitched. “You’re mistaken. Didn’t make a request.”

Quinn sighed, smoothing his hands down his trousers. He had just killed a woman. He had no patience for games.

“I would say that I owed you recompense for your swift response, but I suspect the benefits you will reap from my actions will be ample compensation.”

Zenith nodded, once, sharply. “Best you leave Balmorra,” he said. “Suspects for this are many, but sith don’t take the death of one of their own very well. They’ll investigate every lead.”

He sighed. Valdin and he had just settled into a routine and he had no desire to uproot her once again. “I will make arrangements,” he said. 

“Wait a few weeks,” Zenith said. “It’ll look suspicious if you skip out tomorrow.”

“Contrary to your opinion of my abilities I am quite capable of assessing this situation. Do you think you could allow me to return to my daughter? It has been several hours, and there are things to which I must attend.”

Zenith paused, considering him for a moment. “You care for her,” he said.

Quinn’s nostrils flared. “Evidently.”

Zenith shrugged. “Hires will take you home. If we hear anything about investigations I’ll let you know, but get a new holocom -- one that can’t be traced.”

“My personal holocom is heavily encrypted…”

“Get a new one,” Zenith said. “Before you contact any of us again. Keep that one, fine, but I’m not going to take chances just because of your superior attitude.”

“I do not like you, Zenith,” Quinn said.

Zenith gave a dry chuckle. “Feeling’s mutual, Captain. Doesn’t change anything between us.” He nodded to the twi’lek woman -- Hires, Quinn assumed, and she motioned for Quinn to follow.

He would not lie and say he ever wanted to see any of them again.


End file.
